Tuesday, July 29, 2008


I'm not really sure when it happened, at some point, Westley stopped being able to sleep anywhere, regardless of noise level. I used to but my little swaddled bug down on the couch (surrounded by a nest of cushions) and walk away for a minute. Lights on, TV on, midday, whatever. The baby would stay asleep, and I'd heave a sigh of relief and get on with my day for a little while.

Now, getting Westley to sleep requires near-silence and relative darkness. I rock him in the small, windowless nursery with the lights off and the door closed, counting to 600 before transferring him to his crib. Once he's out of my arms, I start to move like I'm balancing something heavy and breakable. I watch where I step, hold my breath, tiptoe and whisper. Rob looks up to ask if the baby's asleep, and I put my finger to my lips--shh--our sign for "just put him down, sleeping lightly" (as opposed to the eyes-closed, head to the side face we use to signify "completely out like a trout"). I make as few trips up and down the hall as possible, even if it means not peeing for a while. My toothbrush seems too loud.

It slows me down, and makes me antsy at the same time. Whenever Westley's asleep, I feel like I should be doing all those things that I remember need to be done when he's awake and I'm busy with him. There's a three-column To Do list on my refrigerator; I'd like to be crossing things off it. But after 600 counts in a quiet, dark room, housework and organization and even tidying up seem too noisy and bright. The TV seems thunderously loud, even with the volume set to "barely audible."

I climb in bed, tired and wanting to sleep, but annoyed that there's nothing else I can accomplish without waking the baby. I close my eyes, and think good thoughts for every person I can think of. Occasionally, I'll hear Westley fussing in the dark. "Shh," I say to him. Time to sleep. "Shh."


Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Mixed Results

The best thing about going to a moms' group today was getting checked out by a hot guy while waiting for the bus afterwards.


Wednesday, July 2, 2008

7 Months

A is for Already?!

B is for Babbling Blah blah da.

C is for Creeping, but not for Crawling.

D is for Diaper, pronounced "Dye-uh-pa" for fun.

E is for Eating.

F is for Flirting.

G is for Going to bed with your Green blanket.

H is for Hair. You pull mine and pet your own.

I is for I swear you were just in my belly.

J is for Johnny Jump Up.

K is for Kisses.

L is for Little Man.

M is for Monkey.

N is not for Napping.

O is for "Oh my God, you grew in the night!"

P is always for Pee.

Q is for Quiet. Shh. Baby's sleeping. Finally.

R is for Riding the bus.

S is for Sitting on your own.

T is for Teeth. Toofers. Two of 'em.

U is for Us.

V is for Very early to rise.

W is for What would I do without you, West?

X is for Xylophone, because X is always for Xylophone.

Y is for your Yummy ears and cheeks and toes.

Z is for Z' Best Little Man Evah. Zeriously.


Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Poop is Not For Eating

I never thought I'd have to say that. It's not something Sesame Street goes over. Mr. Rogers never sang a catchy song about coprophagia. The poop-eating discussion doesn't usually enter the picture, because poop? Not so much for the eating!

But be prepared to have this discussion if you decide that it's all right to leave your pants-less baby on the floor for a minute while you check on dinner. Oh, you may hear a noise or two that makes you think, "Was that poop?" But when you go over to see what the noise was about, stick around a minute or two before deciding, "Nah, just gas." Seriously, wait a minute. If you don't, you may find only seconds later that your child--your sweet, darling, innocent baby--is belly-down in a smeared, poopy mess. And tasting it.

I wish I were making this scenario up. I really, really do. But no. I keep thinking about making a joke about the finest restaurants in France beginning to serve smeared floor-poop this season, but...ugh. Some things are just wrong.